Assassin
by BatWingteenavenger
Summary: While on patrol, Dick gets a surprise visit from his little brother, only to find out that Damian comes bearing ill-news!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Let me make something clear.**

**I do not like Damian. I don't like that Tim retired as Robin. I do not like that Damian replaced Tim as Robin. I don't. Something about his character rubbed me the wrong way. I just don't like him.**

**However, I am willing to give him a chance, since reading Paganpunk's fics and hearing that thanks to Dick, Damian became less like Jason and more his own personality from Cocopops1995, and seeing as how continuity right now is screwing everyone (HATE the new 52...) I figured what the heck why not? It's not like I can do worse than DC right now...Ima write a story with Dami in it and see how much it sucks or not as the case may be...**

**Here we go!**

The city was quiet. Much too quiet for his liking, especially considering that the city should be crawling with thugs scaling his rooftops to get dibs on his carcass. Blockbuster had raised the bounty on his head from a few thousand to one billion, in a desperate attempt to silence the vigilante forever.

As he pondered his lack of assailants, the vigilante felt the familiar twitch he associated with being snuck up on. Raising his escrima ever so slightly, he whirled around and struck.

His arm was slashed from elbow to wrist, and an eerie laugh escaped his assailant

"You're slow tonight Grayson. I shouldn't have been able to touch you, let alone slice into your kevlar."

The vigilante sighed and grinned at the ten year old bloodson of his mentor. "Damian. You got the drop on me little bro. Tell me, what brings you so far from home...and without your mask?"

The cloaked figure snorted "I wanted a billion dollars." He said glibly

"Ah so you heard."

Damian sneered and twirled his sword, "Please. It's all over the assassin network. You are very popular right now, Grayson."

"Really?" Dick said as the two began to swing through his city "That's funny, because so far only four people tried to kill me tonight."

"How is that funny?"

"I usually have more thugs screaming for my blood per night. That's with a five hundred thousand bounty on my head. Don't get me wrong, I don't really want to die, but you'd think with the raised price I'd have more vultures on my tail."

"Networks say you should have exactly eight assassins on you by tomorrow." Damian pointed out. "One of them is following us. If you didn't notice, you deserve to be shot by that sniper he's carrying."

"Old Ferngully? Yeah I noticed. Why do you think I keep moving?"

Again, a snort from his little brother, and Dami threw a shuriken that cut through the sniper's line. "Never mind he's knocked out now."

Dick grunted, letting go of his line as it reached its peak, firing another one and repeating the trick with a double summersault, heading towards his apartment.

"Ok Damian spill. You didn't come all the way to Bludhaven to tell me something I already know. What brought you here?"

He sighed "The frigid, polluted air? The scent of death maybe?" he said sarcasticly "Oh wait, could it possibly be because an assassin from the League is after the one person besides father I respect?"

That brought Dick to an almost wincing halt, and he dove into his apartment, pulling his brother inside. They landed on the floor, tangled in each other's limbs until Dick got free and hauled the shorter vigilante to his feet

"The League of Assassins wants my head?! Why the hell didn't you say so in the first place?"

"We were playing Tag with a sniper remember?" Damian spat, shrugging him off "Besides, you've said yourself that people hunting you is like, a nightly thing. I figured you would view my news as inconsequential."

Dick ripped off his mask. "Yes I've been targeted before by assassins, bro, but they are small fry. Wanna be ninja and hired thugs, no match for the fight I give them."

He slouched onto his small, beat up couch that looked like it was more in use than the twinsized bed in the next room, and rubbed his temples.

"Never has the League ever shown interest in me before...not while I'm in my own city. Sure they have plenty of reason to kill me when the Outsiders, Young Justice, or the Justice League are after them. Me on my own as a quarry worthy of sending a top assassin? That's unusual. Do you know who it is, Dami?"

His brother's eyes narrowed, and he whispered the name like to speak it too loudly would invite death.

"His name is Striker the Twin Blade."


	2. Chapter 2

"I've fought him before. Nasty piece of work. Deathstroke would be proud of him." Dick threw on some sweats and sat on the small couch in the middle of the room.

"He never misses his target." Damian said with a growl, his voice still low as he looked out the window. "Not when he's fighting one-on-one. He'll cut your head off before you can hear the singing of his blades. Some say that once he finds his victim, he will harass them until they die."

Dick gulped. Not for his own sake but because Damian never showed this kind of fear when he talked about assassins from his guild. He usually scoffed at them and said they were not worth his time. If Dami was frightened of this particular assassin...

"Dami...who were some of his previous victims?"

"Several of Ra's group flunkies, a ton of other assassins, your old buddy Nite-Wing..."

"He killed Nite-Wing? Why the hell?"

"Dude was an idiot. Need a better reason?" Damian snorted, shrugging absentmindedly. "Anyway point is Grayson...if he catches you, it's over. You will die. Your skills won't be enough to save you from his blades."

Dick snorted. "Tell me another one. I've matched wits with Deathstroke before—"

"Darn you Grayson!" Damian exploded, "This guy wiped the floor with Wilson two years ago! He isn't dead. YET. But the point is that you _have _ to be careful. You HAVE to be!"

Dick waved his hands, surrendering with a snicker. "Alright alright! I'll be careful. I promise."

"Don't just be careful!" the warning was snarled "Run away. Don't even engage him. Run the hell _away!"_

NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNW

The next night found Bludhaven's protector surrounded by people who wanted him dead. Growling, he chose to ignore them and continue his rounds, when suddenly, his line was unexpectedly and very rudely cut by a pair of ultrasharp katana.

Nightwing grunted and fished out a new line, swinging to a far rooftop, the shadow behind him following with a satisfied chuckle. Once they both landed, the tall, cloaked figure circled his prey, swords singing as he twirled them around.

"Vigilante, you hardly look surprised to see me." The chilling, accented voice hissed with a sneer.

"Hmmm." Nightwing said flatly following his movement so as to keep the assassin's face always in his line of vision. "I'm not really, no. What's the League doing on my butt? Did I hurt your asses that much last month with the Team?"

A low chuckle answered his question, "The brats of Justice have nothing to do with my visit, Vigilante. No, it is your blood we want. Our employer will pay more for your head than the trifle Blockbuster is offering. I volunteered to spill, you unfortunately are going to donate."

He struck, but the wily Nightwing nimbly flipped out of the way, readying botyh his escrima and his line.

"Sorry, I already gave this month."

The swords sung, slicing his back as he narrowly avoided their bite again; the Kevlar ripping but his skin intact as he fired his line and headed for a higher rooftop. One with more space to maneuver. As he landed, his shoulder was assaulted, causing him to wince and leap away, escrima guarding his front. _He's fast!_

"I'm talking _gallons_, Vigilante." Striker smirked, the moon showing crimson stain on one katana. "Not pints!"

Again, Nightwing was on the move, heeding his little brother's warning to run instead of engage the katana-wielding assassin. He alighted on a new rooftop, hiding in the shadows of an air conditioning fan and hoped that the hunter would give up so he could go home.

Striker cackled softly "You fear my blades, Vigilante?" he taunted, searching the shadows and stabbing his blades into the dark corners he couldn't quite reach. "Come out and engage me, Nightwing! Should I tell Blockbuster that what he fears is too cowardly to face even a single enemy in close combat?!"

Dick tried to stifle the growl that ripped from his teeth at that threat. The taunt itself didn't phase him. It was the truth that Striker would make good on his threat. If that happened, the past years of work would be for nothing.

Too late he realized the growl had been a tad too loud, and both katana were shoved into his hiding space, forcing him to move or die. _Move it is._ He grimaced, leaping straight up and throwing himself backwards into a handspring. Using momentum, he then pushed himself towards his attacker, planting both feet into the assassin's chest, knocking him off-balance and onto his back. He then started grappling as fast as he could away from his attacker.

"Oh well-played, Vigilante." Striker smiled feraly, eyes sparkling as he watched his quarry disappear "Well-played indeed!"

He threw his head back and laughed a minute, then threw a glance back into some nearby shadows. Whiping off his blade with a white cloth, he pinned the stained material to the conditioner and grappled away.

The small, hooded shadow came out of hiding and retreaved the item, gritting his teeth in a snarl.

"First blood. Damn you Grayson!"


	3. Chapter 3

"You let him get First Blood!"

Dick patched his wound as he listened to Damian's barely controlled rant. The boy was not happy, and he waved the bloodstained cloth at the older vigilante, sputtering and fuming.

"You're a dead man Grayson! Do you realize what this means?! You are DEAD!"

Dick snorted "They always get first blood Dami. In case you haven't noticed, Escrima are blunt objects. Unless I break a nose or split a lip, the most I'll ever get is first bruise."

Damian couldn't believe the older bird's glibness. This was one of Grayson's traits he absolutely hated. Usually it annoyed him, but this time it made him furious.

"Stop making light of this you idiot! Dick...you are going to die if you take this too lightly so once in your life please be more serious."

Dick chuckled

"I would if things would get more serious. I've told you before, people coming for my hide isn't new. As long as I'm smart, my skin will stay on."

Damian, like Cass before him, knew that the talk was hiding the conniving way that Dick Grayson thought by simply reading his body language. He was joking glibly, but his body was saying differently.

"It's fine. One cut won't hurt anything. I'll be faster in the future." _Alright he made his point. I better do this smart if I'm wanting to actually live._ "Hopefully he is one of those honor types who won't do something stupid like mess with the people I care about." _Although if he does decide to do that, I'll gladly make a trade. NO ONE is getting hurt because of me._

"Are you staying or going back to Gotham?" _Please don't go. If he hurts you I'll never forgive myself. It isn't safe. Stay here._

Damian snorted

"In your state of mind, you wouldn't be able to sense any attacks. Father would scoff at you right now. I'll stay, but only because you can't handle yourself while sleeping. After all, Father would be displeased if you were to leave before he got a chance to fit a Nightwing suit on Drake."

This earned him a smack on the back of his head, and Dick laughed "Bruce?! Hell no! I'M fitting Tim for my kevlar! It's my right!"

"But Father pays for it."

"...Shut up and sleep."


End file.
